


Neat, don't you think?

by notjustmom



Series: Doodahs and Whatnots [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A Holmes thing, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 12:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8980354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: Yet another mirror that I finally noticed as I was listening to the bit in ASiB where Myc is telling Sherlock how his beautifully orchestrated plan was destroyed. He finishes  sighs and smiles ruefully, "Neat, don't you think?" And of course, when Sherlock finally reveals 'How I did it' to Anderson, he ends with the same...I'm thinking it's one of those family phrases, passed down from from their father. Kind of like how my late grandfather would grin slightly and say, "How 'bout them apples?" as he kicked my arse yet again in Scrabble. ( I was 12, he was a bloody linguist)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scrub456](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/gifts).



"Neat, don't you think?" Thomas Holmes smiled as he gazed at his wife. She had won yet another Mathematics medal. William (not quite Sherlock as yet) rolled his eyes, and said for the millionth? umpteenth? at least hundredth time to his father, "Father, hospital corners are neat, Mathematical medals and ceremonies are tedious, and by the way, why did Mycroft get to stay home this time?"

"Will, he's thirteen, he can take care of himself."

"Why couldn't I have stayed home with him?" William crossed his arms and slumped further down into his seat, knowing what his father was going to say next.

"What happened the last time?"

"Weren't my fault."

"Wasn't?"

"It wasn't my fault, I asked first, Myc didn't answer, so I figured it was -"

"Will."

"I apologised and repainted the ceiling."

"Yes, and you did a neat job of it, son."

William tried not to grin, but a bit of one leaked onto his face.

"Yeah, it is neat, Father. Hope I get to be as smart as Mum."

"You will, my son. I know it."

 

"Rather neat, don't you think, John?" Sherlock beamed as he proposed his theory of the case.

John grinned. "Neat?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and mumbled to himself, and realised what he had said. "My father, he always says it. As a child, it drove me round the bend. But, it seems it is stuck in my head."

"Father?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, and I have a Mum too, they live in Sussex most of the year when they aren't in the U.S., linedancing." He mumbled the last word, hoping John could just drop it.

"Yes. I did figure there had to be a couple of people responsible for your creation."

Sherlock grumbled, "you are speaking as if I am Frankenstein's Monster...it wasn't just me, there was Myc and...never mind. Moving along. Lestrade picked him up and he confessed everything. Hungry?"

 

Mycroft's eyes lit up as Sherlock rattled off the thirteen options for the rooftop meeting. His brother had gained so much over the last months from his relationship with Dr. Watson. He hadn't been sure about the man, obviously damaged himself, but his brother had become more, since their first meeting. Yes. There was the issue of sentiment, but Sherlock had found a way to use it to his advantage, somehow.

"And what of John? Where does he fit in?" Mycroft asked.

"John? He will be elsewhere. He can't be anywhere near Bart's. I have a diversion planned..."

"And what of you and G -"

"Gregory?" Mycroft snickered, his brother's ongoing issue with the DI's given name always made him giggle, just a bit. 

"Hmm." Sherlock nodded.

Mycroft laid out his plan for his proposal: blueprints, timeline, restaurant already rented out for the evening, hotel reservations, and at last the ring. He looked up and smiled smugly at his brother.

"Neat, don't you think?" Then he sighed as he saw a flash of something fly across Sherlock's face, envy, perhaps? He schooled his features so quickly, Mycroft thought he must have imagined it, but then Sherlock muttered under his breath, "You are a lucky man, brother mine."

"Nicely plotted, Myc. He'd be a fool to turn you down." He said aloud for Mycroft's hearing.

"Not too much, then?"

"No, it's very you. He will appreciate the time you've invested in planning it out."

Mycroft nodded. "John could go with you - we could -"

"NO. Absolutely not, Myc. You promised, you would watch over him? He'll be safer here."

"Sher -"

"Myc. Promise?"

"I promise, brother mine."

Sherlock blinked, then without another word, threw on his coat and scarf and slipped from the room.

 

"Mum? May I show you to your seat? We're about to begin."

She looked at her youngest son, and smiled. She always knew he was different, he felt things more deeply than anyone, but understood the penalty for expressing it, all too well. She had once feared he would end up alone, until she met his...

 

"John, this my mum, Violet, Mum, this is my, uhm, my John."

She had bit her lip, unsure of how to react, but then shrugged her shoulders and pulled John into a huge hug. "Thank you," she had whispered then. "Thank you for loving my boy so well."

John had whispered back, "it is my pleasure, Mrs. Holmes."

"Violet, you must call me Violet, John."

 

"Do you -"

"I most certainly do."

"And do you -"

"Definitely."

Thomas nudged Violet's quivering shoulder and murmured in her hair, "Neat, don't you think, love?"

"Yes, my love, very neatly done indeed."


End file.
